The evenings were dulcet and soft. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. It isn’t all. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. Activity in the hall intensified. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked.
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